To Write Love On Her Arms
by loveinletters
Summary: Dedicated to the association 'To Write Love On Her Arms', this story narrates the causes and impacts of depression. During The Battle of Hogwarts, a saviour is lost. Will Hermione Granger accept his death, or will she forever be broken and alone?


**A/N: **This story really isn't for the faint hearted. If you have problems with reading about self-harming, consistent depression and suicidal consideration, then stop here. Take my word for it. If you find things like this difficult, then do not continue. I don't want to be suspected as upsetting anybody with intention. This story is dedicated to the organisation 'To Write Love On Her Arms (TWLOHA)' for they propose help to those suffering with an unstable, depressive condition.

And I own absolutely nothing. No copyright infringement intended. isn't my first fan fiction, but it's probably the first one I've ever written that I'm happy with. Well, the first chapter.. The last story I wrote was a little rushed, and I wasn't at all happy with it. But this one I've made longer, and even given it a dedication, so it should have a lot more purpose and a lot more meaning. I really hope that the people comfortable reading it will enjoy it.I don't want to spoil things for you, so I'll warn you now.. This story contains **Deathly Hallows spoilers**. So if you're intending to read the book without having it ruined for you, then stop reading. Because I don't want to ruin it for you. However.. How could these people NOT have read Deathly Hallows yet? Get on with it, you're missing out!

NOTE: This story is an AU story, meaning that some parts will be completely different (logically) to the books. Ignore the logic of Horcruxes, just for this story.

**Currently Listening To: **Burn Back The Sun - Decyfer Down.  
**Wearing: **Skinny Jeans, NYC Image Top.  
**Mood: **Not in my best mood. Because I had my tongue pierced, I'm unable to eat. Lack of food makes me moody. Merh!

**To Write Love On Her Arms  
**_By loveinletters_

Chapter 1 - The Virtue of Bravery

Death stained the air. Curses flew mercilessly through the hall. Glass was shattering . Stone was crumbling. Marble was cracking. Blood flecked the walls and floors of the Entrance Hall, accompanied by smeared dirt and grime from the wet grass outside. Hogwarts lay in pieces, yet still sheltering the fighter's that were battling it out for their lives, for their friends and for their dignity.

Harry frantically peered at the wreckage of the school, watching as it's walls manically attacked the ruined, marble floors. There was an ache in his heart as he watched his home, the place that he had belonged to, crash to the ground. It had all been for nothing; every moment of this journey to victory. The victory that would never come. All that he saw, at the end of this dishevelled path, was fate. And fate was what he would shake hands with, before letting it take him. From his life and from his friends - the people he had sworn he would win this war for.

Harry proceeded out of the battlefield, staring at nothing but his own two feet. In silence he walked through the Entrance Hall and out of the oak front doors. One door was hanging off it's hinges. The other had already been torn down.

For the first time in his life, he felt no remorse for the actions he feared were not right. But he didn't truly _know _whether this was wrong or right: it was what his head, his lonesome, troubled head, was telling him to do.

No-one had seen him vacate the entrance hall of terror, for his sacred cloak embraced him tightly. He clung onto the silky fabric, his hands shaking, as he pursued the route to the end - the end of all this pain.

It seemed like nobody had noticed his disappearance because nobody looked as if they were searching for him. But this was what he wanted. To be alone and to be able to face this without argument and without a change of mind. He didn't want a proper goodbye. He didn't want to suffer from the tears that would be spilt. No; he had to do this, without causing grief beforehand, whether it pained him or not. To get it over with was his goal, before his courage betrayed him.

Giving himself up was something he should've done a _long time ago.._

_

* * *

_A scream. A high-pitched, spine-shivering, blood-curdling scream.

Hermione turned on her heel, her wand raised and her expression ominous. She ran through the fighting crowds, dodging, ducking and diving out of the way of soaring spells. The volume of noise was horrendously deafening; screams, yells, shouts, crashes, bangs, smashes.. It could've been the equivalent to a horror scene.

No. _Worse _than a horror scene.

Mangled body's lay upon the floor, injured, broken and lifeless. Hermione refused to look at them as she sprinted through the school, down the marble staircase and into the Entrance Hall.

From metres away, what she had heard could evidently be seen. A huge, four-legged animal was perched atop Lavender Brown, its unpleasantly yellow teeth bared and its claws inches from her face. Hermione stopped with a gasp.

"NO!" she screamed, and slashed the air with her wand. Flame-red sparks followed by a deafening blast flew in the creature's direction. Fenrir Greyback yelped in pain and was thrown off the fragile and stirring Lavender, colliding harshly with the marble banisters and landing in a crumpled heap upon the floor, no longer moving.

Hermione ran around frantically, shooting more spells from her wand and helping anybody she thought needed it.

She'd lost Harry.

She'd lost Ron.

She could find neither of them. And that simple fact had thrown her off her guard. It had taken immense willpower for her not to cry. In order to find them, she needed to stay calm.

Calm and.. _and collected.._

What could she do without them? There was no way she'd be able to get through this battle with their help, without their reassurance. They had to be around _somewhere.. _They couldn't have possibly.. Have possibly..

"HERMIONE!" bellowed a wonderfully familiar voice.

Hermione's heart flew, and she span around, clutching her chest with relief as she saw Ron, covered in muck and blood and standing at the entrance to the Great Hall.

_Oh, thank goodness. Thank goodness._

She sprinted over to him, throwing a stunning spell straight at an oncoming, masked Death Eater. The curse hit, but he had already cast a spell; a deadly, green glow was powering straight towards her..

* * *

Wishing that things could be different was pointless. It could never have changed; it was always meant to be like this. Harry was soon approaching his destination, a half-hearted sigh fleeing from him and he looked up from the ground for the first time. He didn't dare look back at the castle - it would only cause him to regret, to be repentant, to _reconsider.. _

Wandering beings floated around him, their punctured souls and diminutive frowns would tell stories for years to come. Harry hoped they would find peace soon. And he hoped they would later live a quiet life; a life that he, himself, had always dreamt of.

But he would never get that. Not until this was over. This moment was what his whole life had been leading up to. He wasn't supposed to survive. He understood now. Walking straight into death's lair was for the best.

_For the greater good. _

Less people would suffer. More would receive justice. But it wasn't as though this could be uncovered by just a little light reading.

A small, bushy-haired girl suddenly invaded Harry's mind, causing him to frown with subtle musings. And a giddy, red-headed boy joined her.

But the girl stood out so much more.

Since first year, Hermione had transformed into a sensible young lady, with her own sufficient amount of beauty. She was certainly a stunning character; cunning, intelligent, with a breath-taking smile. But it just wasn't meant to be. The fairytale would not happen. What use was there in clinging onto something, so tremendously astounding, that would never exist?

He thought of her, forlorn and abandoned. What would she say? What would she do when she saw the comatose form of his body, unresponsive and still? Surely, if he were ever to see it, her expression would break his heart. He was leaving her alone.. All alone..

_What are you talking about? She has Ron!_

Ron; the one he had always secretly envied. Harry knew Ron felt something for Hermione, and the look in Hermione's eyes told him that she felt something for him too. And that hurt him.. But he couldn't ever have let them know about it.

He pushed the thought from his mind, burying it amongst so many others that he wished never to recite again. He was at the end of his life now, and within the remaining time he had left, thinking about it again would only cause him heartache.

She had Ron. They would be happy together. No matter how endearing Hermione was, he would never see her again.

* * *

"HERMIONE, DUCK!" shouted Ron, his eyes wide with fear as he ran towards his best friend. Hermione shot him a questioning look, but soon realised what he was ordering her to do. Upon seeing the killing curse heading at top speed straight towards her, Hermione instantly collapsed to the floor with a squeal, sliding across it and dirtying her jeans. But that didn't matter right now. The curse zoomed over her head and collided with another Death Eater, who furrowed to the ground like a puppet with cut strings.

Ron dashed over to Hermione, gripping her arm and pulling her to her feet.

"Thank you!" she breathed, with a timid smile.

Ron shook his head, "No problem. Come on!"

The two clutched hands and loped through the hall, wands raised, with fear coating their dirty faces. They legged it into the Great Hall, passing McGonagall who had charmed classroom desks into knocking out opponents, and approached the staff table (which was now a splintery mess) where they faced a new opposition. A Death Eater had started a duel, throwing bright purple lights repeatedly at them.

"Oh, for goodness sake!" shrieked Hermione and began casting curse after curse, and spell after spell at the unknown, masked figure. Ron soon joined in, letting go of Hermione's hand in the process and edging even closer to the enemy. Hermione barely noticed this attempt at uncanny danger, until, of course, a curse hit him squarely in the stomach.

"RON!" she screamed, "NO!"

Ron fell to the ground with a corrupt thud, his eyes watering in pain as he clutched his stomach. A river of wet, shining crimson penetrated through his fingers, leaking onto his hands and onto the floor.

"_STUPEFY!_" shrieked Hermione, and the stunning spell slapped the Death Eater straight in the face. She hurried over to Ron, kneeling down next to him and placing her own hand on the wound. At her touch, Ron flinched, clenching his teeth.

"Bloody hell, Hermione," he hissed, his hands shaking as he removed them from his stomach. His blood caked Hermione's pale hands as it continued to flow rapidly. Tears stung at her eyes as she watched his face contort with agony. The cut was deep and looked horrifyingly painful. She didn't know what to do! Panic bit at her as her mind worked quickly, ticking like a clock, counting out the seconds she had left.

Instinctively, Hermione whipped out her wand and pointed it at the cut that seemed unable to stop bleeding. It was only then that she remembered what Harry had told her last year, about Snape healing Draco after Harry had cursed him with _Sectumsempra. _Repeatedly, she muttered the incantations, tracing her wand tip over the mangled skin. Within seconds, his blood had been replenished and the slice had sewn itself back together. Colour flooded Ron's previously pale complexion and he clambered to his feet, Hermione rising with him.

"Thanks," he nodded, swallowing in embarrassment. His eyes searched the floor for a moment, as he evidently looked for something. Hermione smiled at him, picking his wand up off the floor and handing it to him, "Thanks," he said again, clumsily patting Hermione on the shoulder.

"Come on," she exhaled, "We need to find-"

A piercing _crash _cut her off, killing the rest of her sentence dead. A shower of turquoise-blue sparks had collided with the magnificent, ornate window situated behind the destroyed staff table. The impact was disastrous, and within seconds the glass smashed, cracked and splintered, falling upon Ron and Hermione like a shower of glinting diamonds, sparkling vainly in the weak light of the hall.

"TAKE COVER!" bellowed an unknown voice. Ron and Hermione clung onto each other and dove to the floor, their arms cowering over their heads as the shards and knifes of lethal material rained upon them. A scream ripped from Hermione's throat as the glass collapsed around them, scratching her bare arms. Ron was tightly embraced around her, his eyes clamped shut, waiting for the glass to stop drowning them. It seemed unable to seize.

Hermione raised her wand to the air and yelled, as loud as possible, "_Immobilus!" _

The pattering sound of deteriorating window pieces immediately silenced and hesitantly, Ron and Hermione got to their feet. They both looked up, gawking by means of relief as they saw a strange sight before them.

The ragged shapes of broken glass hovered above them in a refined manner. Spells still flying around the room reflected off them, creating a sensational, rainbow wonder…

"Hermione, come on!" urged Ron, taking grip of Hermione's arm and pulling her away from the platform area. Two Death Eaters had bound their way, looking quite mischievous and ready to do some harming.

"Oh, I don't think so!" yelled Hermione, and as soon as they had ran from the damaged window, she raised her wand to the ceiling, harshly flicking it towards the ground. A musical sound rang perturbed about the hall, the sound flinging and backfiring off the walls as glass fell, fell, fell on top of the Death Eaters, knocking them to the floor as they wriggled and writhed, trying to get away from the tiny little knifes.

* * *

He wasn't far now.

Far from those merciless, glinting, red slits that he had continuously escaped for seven years.

From the intense, flamboyant, vibrant, green light that would announce the end.

From the people that he had lost whilst accustoming to this fight, battling against the darker side, for the ones that he loved. _Lily.. James.. Sirius.. Mad-Eye.. Dumbledore.._

Even Hedwig. The creature that he had once held so close to his heart, for she had been with him every step of the way, whilst standing against the Dursley's.

But surely, the fact that he would join them in a matter of minutes was a _good thing.. _Wasn't it? He'd be re-united with his parents, his friends, his saviours. Everyone he had looked up to as a strong, growing wizard. The people that had taught him to choose between what was right, and what was easy.

Fighting against Voldemort was right.

Dying at his hands was easy. Wasn't it?

_I'm making the right decision.. I'm making the right decision.. It's for the best.. It is. It is.. _Harry pointed his wand at the flinging, whipping and squelching form of the Whomping Willow and in an instant it was still. He slid his father's cloak off of his body and slung it over his arm, gripping a forlorn branch and sliding into the tiny, cave-like portal at the base of the tree's trunk. He was no stranger to the muddy and darkened depths of this atmosphere. Only four years ago had he been here before, facing a danger, an uncanny threat to his life.

But -

_Don't think it, Harry._

But.. If he was wrong then.. Could he be wrong now?

_That's ridiculous. It was a completely different circumstance. Don't push yourself into idiocy. You have to do this. For you, for them. You have to stop this war._

* * *

They had reached a quiet area, where the sounds of the battle could not be heard. All was silent, distinct, peaceful. As though the war continuing on had never started. Never existed.

"What are we going to do?" asked a panicked Hermione, wringing her hands and frantically looking left and right, and right and left. She seemed evidently unable to keep still.

"We _need _to get to the snake. That's what Harry said. We need to kill the snake."

"But Ron!" groaned Hermione, running a bloody hand through her hair. Her hands were still violently red with Ron's blood - she would never get the smell or the stain off of them. They'd forever linger there.. Reminding her of this horror, "We don't know where Harry is! He knows what to do. We don't know what we assume is certain and-"

"Hermione," whispered Ron, pulling her into a comforting hug, "Calm down. I'm sure he's fine! You know Harry! Nothing can get rid of him."

Reluctantly, Hermione nodded, wiping tears from her eyes as she pulled herself out of Ron's embrace, checking that she had her wand. "Ok," she said, "Ok."

"Alright," said Ron, adjusting himself, "Let's go find that bloody snake."

* * *

Every step creaked as Harry climbed the staircase, but not loud enough for anybody to hear just yet. The Shrieking Shack had not changed at all. Wallpaper still hung off the walls, yellowing and torn. The windows were still boarded up, letting in little light through the gaps in the planks. The floorboards were coated in a thick layer of dust, only vanishing at Harry's footprints.

It still looked a mess. A derelict, desolate, abandoned state of a house. But it had been through an awful lot of catastrophe, Harry could grant. Especially in his third year at Hogwarts. The unholy battle between Sirius, Lupin and himself. The uncovering of Peter Pettigrew, once Ron's faithful pet rat. The stunning of Severus Snape, their Potions Master..

Some memories were, surprisingly, good, yet some were bad. But neither of them seemed pleasant enough to think about. Harry didn't want to think about anything. In order to accomplish this, he wanted to keep his mind blank. He didn't want to think, feel or see.

He wanted it over.

And quickly.

He reached the first floor and from the next floor above he could hear whispers. Frantic, excited whispers. As he moved closer to the top of the house, the voices increased in volume and were now loud enough for Harry to recognise who they were.

One was Lucius Malfoy. Harry would know his voice from anywhere. The Ministry of Magic incident re-played in his head;

"_Do not play games with us Potter.."_

"_Dumbledore never told you the reason you bear that scar was hidden in the bowels of the Department of Mysteries?"_

"_Well this explains why you didn't come earlier, Potter, the Dark Lord wondered why you didn't come running when he showed you the place where it was hidden in your dreams."_

_"He thought natural curiosity would make you want to hear the exact wording.."_

"_Why? Because the only people who are permitted to retrieve a prophecy from the Department of Mysteries, Potter, are those about whom it was made, as the Dark Lord discovered when he attempted to use others to steal it for him."_

"_Haven't you ever wondered why the Dark Lord tried to kill you as a baby?"_

Anger boiled in the pit of Harry's stomach. He hated the man. Hated him. He was vile and cruel. An aristocratic, self-indulgent bastard. He was a typical senior version of his son, however, with a lot more capability.

Harry unhooked the cloak from his arm and lifted it over his head and dropped it upon him, exhaling deeply as he felt the texture against his skin. The cloak, as supple as water, somewhat calmed him. He climbed the remaining set of creaky stairs, a devious expression on his face, one foot paced apprehensively in front of the other. He could hear them now, as clear as anything.

"-to what certain extent are we reaching to retrieve the boy?" came the familiar hushed hiss of Lucius Malfoy, "Surely, My Lord, it has crossed your mind that the boy is just too stubborn to hand himself over? That he wants to fight? To declare himself a winner?"

"The boy will come, Lucius, in time. Therefore, if he wants to continue fighting then I believe it is his choice alone. He is only losing more friends by remaining insolent to my request. But it will be over soon. He will not defeat me."

Harry crouched beside the door to the room two shadowed figures were standing in, listening intently. Paranoia overwhelmed him, so he put a hand over his mouth, to silence his loud, heavy breathing. He was inches away. Inches from the end of his life. The halting of all this pain, this horror story, this unending, inevitable war.

"What do you suppose you will do if he does not approach, My Lord?"

"I will have no choice but to walk into the war myself. Retrieve the boy at my own command and kill any who are foolish enough to get in my way."

Harry clenched his teeth, concentrating on the cruel hiss of his lifelong enemy. Voldemort was thinking along the same lines as himself. Handing himself over would only put a stop to the death of his friends.

"However, if Potter appears, I trust you know your station, Lucius?"

The faint sound of swishing robes could be heard, followed by the soft pad of footsteps.

"Yes, My Lord."

"Good.. I will be in the Forest. You know what to do."

Freezing in his crouching position, Harry waited for Voldemort to exit the room and pass by him. But his expectation did not occur. An echoing _crack _filled the room instead. He'd chosen to Apparate.

* * *

Everything seemed to fly past in slow motion.

Hermione couldn't understand it; where was Harry and why on earth was he not fighting? Harry was always there to fight, especially when defending his friends.

She was worried. Something was wrong, she could feel it.

Ron had done well to try and convince her that Harry was perfectly safe and was most likely battling it out at the other end of the castle, but Hermione had lost him ages ago. _Goodness _only knew where he was. Hermione couldn't help but if someone had gotten a hold of him? What if he was already… ?

Hermione choked back tears and turned to Ron, who was glimpsing out from behind the tapestry hanging they had cowered behind. He was tapping his wand anxiously against his leg - hard enough for undersized sparks to fly from its tip. He seemed just as apprehensive as she did.

She couldn't blame him.

They both knew Harry well enough to comprehend that he wouldn't just disappear and especially without reason. The whole wizarding world was depending on him at the moment, as much as she hated to admit it. She knew very well that he most disliked attention and the proposition of being amongst the middle of a blood-bath style war would do nothing to boost his confidence. But she was sure, with all the certainty she had, that he wouldn't just leave them helpless.

"AHA!" cried a voice, from Hermione's side of the tapestry. The two Gryffindors turned abruptly on the spot, staring in horror as Bellatrix Lestrange faced them, her wand drawn and her eyes wide with malice, staring at Hermione as if she were her prey.

Each step she took towards them was deliberate and slow - like she was trying not to scare off the tiny animal she wished to get her hands on. She was a fearsome being, with her crazy, matted hair and wild, penetrating gaze. Each pace she deliberated wasn't far in comparison to that of a drunk's. However they were far more feminine.. Like a hungry tigress.

"There's nowhere to run, itty bitty Mudblood," she hissed, baring her teeth as she badly attempted a triumphant smile.

Hermione's complexion lost all of its colour. It was pale, white, sickly.. Like it had lost its pigment.

"It doesn't take much intellectual capacity to truly realise _how _you got away from me, all those weeks ago at Malfoy Manor," she whispered, deviously creeping towards the tapestry, a look of pure excitement dancing within her eyes. The evil cow always enjoyed the result of the Cruciatus Curse. It seemed many years ago now, that Hermione had experienced its wrath, "I am sure, that by now, Potter has failed you. What point is there in living now? Your saviour never had the chance to vanquish the Dark Lord. You'll live on, suffering from despair, from melancholy all because _Harry Potter _died at the hands of those above you."

She spat his name, spraying it harshly as she neared them, the illustration of an uncultivated zoo animal still parading in the region of her deceitful crawl.

"I think," she breathed, "That now is a good time to show your faces."

And with a portentous snigger, she flicked her wand. It took Hermione several seconds to register what she had done, for nothing seemed to have changed.

Until a tearing sound ripped through the hallway and the tapestry descended to the floor.

"Well, _hellooo-"_

"RON!"

"_STUPEFY!"_

Ron's voice reverberated loudly through the corridor as the spell blasted from the tip of his wand. He pushed Hermione to the floor, a hand gripping onto her shoulders, pulling her up as soon as the red sparks vanished and rocketed in the direction of a cackling Bellatrix, who simply danced out of the way of Ron's well-cast stunning spell. In conclusion to this mishap, Ron's face fell, darkening as the spell whizzed past Bellatrix and collided, instead, with a proudly standing suit of armour. It smashed to the floor with a metallic clatter, helmet, sword and broken metal rolling about pointlessly.

And then it was Bellatrix's turn to act. Her wand was positioned high above her head as she cast curse after curse repeatedly in their direction. Each stunning spell was followed by yet another, until she voluntarily moved on to the Unforgivable's.

"You won't be able to dodge forever, little children," screeched Bellatrix, _"Crucio!"_

The spell missed Hermione by inches. It flew past her right shoulder, evaporating into the thin air as it toured down the corridor.

"_Levicorpus!" _exclaimed Hermione. The bright-blue spell sped towards their opponent, but missed as she, once more, danced out of the way, as easily as crushing an ant. Nothing Hermione threw at her seemed to be working.

Ron was experiencing the same. His face was twisted with concentration as he chucked spells continuously at the pirouetting woman, whose mess of black hair span along with her. She cackled at the top of her voice, which resulted to many Hufflepuff fighters (who had just launched around the corner), to turn on their heels and run back the other way, fear coaxing their expressions.

"What a bunch of bloody help they are!" yelled Ron, his knuckles white at how hard he was gripping his only weapon. He was treating it as though it were his life-support - something he would not let go of.

"Ron!" cried two breathless voices, "Hermione!"

Ginny and Luna had joined the duel, both casting spells at Bellatrix, who seemed only too pleased at the opportunity to kill off two more Hogwarts brats.

But-

Their miraculous four against one had dissolved into nothingness, as Hermione's red-headed companion had fled from the battle.

"Ron?" she called and watched in confusion as she caught sight of fire-red hair speeding around the corner.

_What on earth-?_

A sudden sting whipped against her cheek and Hermione's head rolled sharply to the side at the blow. She looked up to see Bellatrix eyeing her with loathing and malice, her lip curled with satisfaction whilst lowering her wand. Hermione raised a trembling hand to her cheek and looked down at her fingers, covered in her own blood.

Startled, Hermione raised her wand, and this time launched persistent stunning spells out of pure anger towards the female Death Eater. But nothing would take her down.

Not even Ginny's fantastic _Reducto _spell.

And there were three exceptionally able witches against her. It was, unmistakably , perfectly matched.

If they were incapable of casting her to the floor, then what wasn't?

* * *

Harry rose to a standing position, the cloak still acting as his facade. He should've been trembling with intense fear, but he felt numb. Nothing was going to happen yet anyway. Lucius had been appointed a tas.

And what were the odds that he had something to do with it?

In the past, Lucius Malfoy would've made him laugh as he attempted to do Harry some harm. But now it wasn't so funny. A vague idea of the concept of Voldemort's plan crossed Harry's mind, but until he took off his concealment and stepped into the presence of Malfoy, he would never find out whether his predictions were true.

Gathering up all the Gryffindor spirit he had inside of him, he grasped the cloak firmly with one hand and pulled it from his body, stowing it into his pocket as he stepped _once, twice, three times _into the room where his schoolyard enemy's father stood, blank-faced and heavily cloaked, holding in his hand that dodgy stick of his that had a serpentine head.

Lucius' head turned at the creaking of Harry's footsteps. His expression interpreted inquisitiveness and a small frown flawed his icy features, until Harry was in full view of his penetrating, grey gaze.

"Harry Potter.." he whispered, endeavouring to keep his excitement at bay. Even the stupidest of people could tell that all he wanted was to smirk by means of conquest, for it was tugging eagerly at each corner of his mouth.

Harry merely glared at him, his fists curled into balls at his sides. Whatever was planned for him, he wanted it over with. There was nothing left to wait for. If it was pain he was to endure, then Harry would've preferred to see it through as quickly as possible. What use was there in lingering on tormenting conversation, when in a short period of time, his life would be taken from him at his own accord?

"Just get it over with," said Harry, his voice confident.

Lucius merely chuckled, fingering the serpentine head of his walking stick as he neared Harry, "My, for a boy who is about to die you are certainly very valiant."

"Maybe I'm sick of fighting? Can't do it forever, can I?"

"Well, I was given the impression that Gryffindors never relinquish. Or is that intuition a lie?"

It was what he had been expecting, no matter how reluctant to the occurrence. He had faced Lucius Malfoy enough times now to know that it didn't take much to realise that he would not do anything to his victim, unless they were on the road to emotional distraught first. This would just be another sick mind game of his.

"You don't need a personal description on Gryffindors, Malfoy. Surely even _you_ know that when the time comes, it just comes and there's no getting out of it. Your intuition isn't a lie. Life barricades eventually."

Lucius did nothing but tut. He lifted his wand to Harry's forehead, tracing the tip of it over the legendary mark that stained his forehead.

"And by handing yourself over you believe that your friends will continue happy, undisturbed lives? You do not consider, for one second, that you will leave them haunted by the memories of yourself?"

The point sunk into Harry's soul, piercing it with the emotion.

_What are you doing? Ignore what the bastard's telling you. You're doing the right thing. You know his tricks, he's trying to get to you-_

"Of course not," Harry laughed shakily. His confidence seemed to be faulting; he couldn't let that happen. His friends had been maimed. They were hurting. This all needed to stop.

Harry could see what was happening. It was pretty clear that the man before him was playing with him, which he didn't like. "They'll live at least. Better they live haunted, than not at all."

"Are you sure? Surely, a life of peace and nothingness is better than the continuous sufferings of a lost friend, a lost saviour."

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but it seemed that Lucius had not stopped playing.

"However, I digress that you are doing the correct thing, Potter. Self-righteousness gets you a long way. A Slytherin trait, I believe."

He took his wand from Harry's forehead and instead began to pace a circle around him, that prevailing smirk still attached to his lips.

"Peace and nothingness.." Harry repeated slowly. Was that how he described death? Was it a correct description? "If Draco died, how would you feel?" he questioned, scornfully. He knew for a fact that he was crossing the line, but was he honestly going to fall without irritating Lucius first? Besides, he had such a short temper. The opportunity was almost too good to overlook.

And since that there was no pain coming, he may as well converse. Play at the game. Entice himself rather than just give Lucius alone the satisfaction. After all, he was perfectly capable of angering Death Eaters. Why show fear, when you could have a little fun?

All thoughts of perishing tonight had left him.

"My son has nothing to do with this," snarled Lucius, "But I would be happy that he, of all people, would no longer suffer the wrath of reality. After all, it's a cruel world. Death is a much safer aspect. Everyone dies in the end."

Without even knowing that it had happened, electricity rocked through Harry, shocking his nerve endings and sending tremendous amounts of pain consistently through his body. He collapsed to the floor, writhing, struggling and yelling in complete agony. It was nowhere near as painful as Voldemort's infliction, but it was bad enough. His head was spinning, his body was on fire and oh _god _would it ever end?

But he couldn't scream in protest, no matter how much it _hurt. _He had expected it, and he wouldn't give Lucius the satisfaction of control.

_Over my dead body. _

And then it all came flooding back to him. The pain had stopped, and Harry merely lay there, panting and wincing as he got quickly to his feet. A memorable sensation to tear his wand from his pocket broke upon him, but he hastily remembered what he had silently told himself.

_No wand, no defence. Just take it. _

"Not as strong as you'd like people to think you are, are you Potter?" hissed Lucius, snarling vindictively. His wand was still pointed at Harry, "Some see you as insuperable, intractable, unbeatable.. Oh, how wrong they all are."

He flicked his wand harshly towards the floorboards and a burning sensation tore through Harry's back. His legs slowly gave way, betraying him as they collapsed to the floor. He yelled out in pain as this impenetrable weight pressed down upon him, crushing his bones, his body, his distinction.

"But I see you as nothing other than a waste of space, an impertinence to the wizarding world."

Another jab of his wand and Harry was bleeding rapidly, the warm, sticky fluid dripping from a deep cut in his cheek. It was excruciating.

But he kept his lips firmly sealed, refraining from protesting against his will.

But would good was this doing? What need was there to torture him into insanity, when soon he wouldn't be able to feel the intensity of the agony.

But of course.. Voldemort would do anything to exaggerate his death. The story would not be of Harry, brave, noble and meticulous, giving himself up in order to save his friends. No, it would be of how the blood-thirsty battle forced Harry into submission and there, as he tried to defend himself, he was tortured into near insanity and then disposed of, labelled as nothing but a useless pile of filth, who grew tired of fighting, and merely gave up.

For no-one but himself.

"_Crucio!"_

Another shriek of pain announced Harry on the floor, battling it out with dust, wood and splinters as he tried to fight off the anguish tearing open his skin, snapping his bones and crushing him beneath a _whole bloody house. _It was like fire, burning every live part of him and killing it dead. He couldn't stop it, it would carry on and on and on until he completely lost his head and-

"STOP IT, YOU BASTARD!" he bellowed, his voice cracking beneath the pressure and the pain of the curse.

_You idiot. You stupid, stupid idiot._

The pain ceased and once again, Harry was laying at Lucius' feet - a place he had wished he would never be.

"My task was to weaken you," came the prevailing whisper of Lucius, "And I had been given a lengthy amount of time to achieve that in. But it seems-" He aimed a kick at Harry's stomach and on the floor he doubled over, breathing heavily through his nose, "-I didn't really need that much time. Weakening you has proved a very-" Kick, "-easy-" Kick, "-task."

That final given kick could've given Harry whiplash if he had the strength of a bloody child. But he was still conscious and fighting the truth of the protest that had fled from his lips.

He betrayed the only willpower he had allowed himself to have. Giving in to a Death Eater's predicament would only give them the fulfilment they wanted.

"But still," sighed Lucius, chuckling darkly, "I can't help but find watching you bleed and scream and beg under my mercy so.. Adequate. Another dose of respect, Potter? _Crucio!"_

And once again, for the sake of bloody Merlin, his whole system was eating flames, burning, whipping, tearing, screaming for release. But it wouldn't come. The curse seemed to last forever, robbing him from his energy, his willpower, his pride as agonising yells and cries slashed through his throat. He was breaking, crumbling, crashing all under the mere infliction of the Cruciatus Curse. It was taking his life slowly away from him, destroying him.

But no - it couldn't happen yet. This was only the beginning. The beginning of the end. Living hell.

And yet it _still had not stopped. _It was still going, getting worse as the minutes wore on. Jesus Christ, how long had he been enduring this? It felt as though he was being persistently stabbed by several knifes at once, piercing his skin, stripping him of his conceit. Just as he thought he was about to pass out-

_Blackness. Wondrous, ever-lasting nothingness. It was fantastic bliss, floating peacefully about this abyss. No pain, no sorrow, no pride, no humiliation. Nothing. Numb. Nothing could've felt more simplicit. Was this death? It couldn't be.. He still had self-infliction._

"It's not over yet, Potter."

_That voice. He didn't like it. It was faint, but he knew who it was. The stupid bastard had knocked him into this wonder. He could thank him, but why would he do that? What ever had he done to deserve his gratitude?_

The grass was wet, soaking with rain. Yet it wasn't raining. What?

Harry's eyes flickered open and moved observantly across the floor upon which he was sprawled. He was definitely outside; he could feel the cold, night air upon his face. But it certainly wasn't raining. He blinked down at the grass and frowned.

Rain wasn't red.

Nice - he was lying in his own blood.

"He's awake, he's awake.."

Frantic whispers surrounded him. He lifted himself off the floor, white lights spattering his vision as he did so. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, before getting to his feet entirely. God, he felt so heavy. Like he weighed three times his actual mass.

The scene adjusted before him. Everything was dark, but amongst tall, thin trees he could identify many cloaked figures, their faces hidden by skeletal masks. But- What? How did he get here?

"_However, if Potter appears, I trust you know your station, Lucius?"_

_The faint sound of swishing robes could be heard, followed by the soft pad of footsteps._

"_Yes, My Lord."_

_"Good.. I will be in the Forest. You know what to do."_

This was it. It was time.

"Harry Potter," came an easily recognisable voice. A high-pitched, cold hiss. A tone of voice he knew only too well. Harry could almost hear his smile. His evil, grotesque, failed attempt at a smile. He was no stranger to this icy, spine-shivering presence. He was, perhaps, the only being to _not _shiver.

The sound of many moving cloaks could be heard, and Harry looked up to see Death Eater's all moving aside to let through one particular person.

Voldemort stood before him, but due to his blurred, distinguished vision, he couldn't quite make out his opposition. But there wasn't really any need for it. He'd raised his wand and all of a sudden, fifty billion thoughts rushed through his head at the speed of light..

_-.._

_Ron.. Hermione.. .._

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

He saw the flash of green, but did not feel himself fall to the floor; finished before he collapsed. It was like a puppet with snipped strings, dropping to the pits of hell, as weak as one who had been drained. Everything fell with him, even though he didn't know it. Everything collapsed, for everything's saviour had lost everything..

It was what he wanted and it was his end.

The end of Harry Potter.

* * *

"HERMIONELOOKOUT!" screamed Ginny, but she had ducked just in time. The killing curse zoomed over her head, rebounding off the wall and rushed at full speed down the next hallway. Bellatrix had stopped casting and instead had raised her left arm to eye-level. They were wide with horror (or shock; Hermione couldn't tell) and before the three girls fighting against her got the chance to make any other movement, she'd ran from them all, sprinting past them and down the stairs, cackling, screeching and singing as Hermione, Luna and Ginny all looked at each other in confusion, until realising what had just happened.

"It burned.." whispered Ginny, pointing a trembling finger to her own arm, "Her Dark Mark! It burned!"

"Ginny, calm down.." said Hermione, "Nothing could've happened. Voldemort must just need her assistance.."

But Ginny shook her head from side-to-side rapidly, her flame-red hair bouncing around her pale face, "N-No Hermione, I'm serious. It really can't be good. Really can't-"

A piercing scream shook the walls of the destroyed castle, resulting to Hermione, Ginny and Luna all recoiling in revelation. With a confirming look at each other, they all charged down the Grand Staircase which was, strangely enough.. Empty.

The school was silent. Nothing made a sound as they reached the Entrance Hall. In fact, there was nobody _in _the Entrance Hall. Every single person, dead and alive, were gathered together within the Great Hall and as they three girls took a closer look, all had tear-tracks staining their faces. They were waiting, but for what they had no idea.

"Mum," whispered Ginny to Molly, amongst the silence, "What's going-?"

But the echoing sound of a fearsome voice paraded the hall, reaching every person's ears with no effort.

It was Voldemort's voice - loud and clear.

"You have all fought bravely. Many have failed and perished in the attempt to defeat our side. However you have done exceedingly well. We have given you time to heal your wounded and dispose of your dead. But I am sure that you have accustomed to the fact that bad news awaits you."

He paused, as if for dramatic effect.

"Harry Potter is dead."

Gasps, screams and shrieks of despair fill the room. But Hermione remained standing, alone and numb, with nobody to cower against. Nobody embraced her. Nobody comforted her. Each person had family around them. Or friends or-

"Whilst you were all fighting for your lives in order to help him, he walked away from you all and handed himself over. He gave up and left you fighting pointlessly, for nothing."

"PROPOSTEROUS!" shrieked a voice, from inside the hall.

"For now, we will leave you. But hand the body back to you first. To inform you of what everything has cost."

And once again, everything flew past in slow motion. Everyone was moving, speeding out of the hall, shoving past Hermione who seemed only to stare at the floor metres away from her. Her eyes were wide, focusing on nothing in particular, as tears, one by one, started to fall from them, glassing them up and announcing her melancholy.

But, as she had not expected, a strong pair of arms found her and pulled her towards the body they belonged to. Ron grasped hold of her and held her in a tight embrace as she lost it.

She bawled into his shoulders, screaming, punching, breaking down into pieces. And he took it all - every blow Hermione threw at him - without complaint. His hold on her only tightened. As though he was trying to hold her together. The pieces that broke from her.

Pieces she would never make whole again.


End file.
